


made of clay

by fishydwarrows



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Endgame Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, Fix-It, Julia Wicker is a Good Friend, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Not Beta Read, POV Eliot Waugh, Past Quentin Coldwater/Alice Quinn, Quentin Coldwater Deserved Better, Quentin Coldwater Lives, Underworld, eliot goes into the underworld and saves q from death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:48:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishydwarrows/pseuds/fishydwarrows
Summary: The gang holds hands. Eliot does some errands. Quentin takes a walk down memory lane.
Relationships: Margo Hanson & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater & Julia Wicker, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh, the whole gang basically - Relationship
Comments: 25
Kudos: 101





	made of clay

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first queliot fic (hooray!) so funny story, the idea for this fix-it came to me in like, 4 different ideas. I wrote the Eliot monologue at 4 am, tried several times to write the beginning of this story, then made a wholeass animatic just to outline the plot, and finally started writing this at 1 am last night.
> 
> so yeah! lot's of effort. 
> 
> in the below notes there'll be a link to the animatic I made for this along with- when it happens, the link to Eliot's monologue because it's GONNA BE PERFORMED BY HALE (but not until saturday) (wizard world babey)
> 
> also i feel it is important to note: since lev grossman retweeted my animatic, that means this fanfic is technically approved by him, thank you all
> 
> thank you for reading! and please consider leaving a comment if you like the story!

Quentin has been dead for a month.

-

Eliot remembers.

Eyes opening, breath rushing into his lungs, and the worst fucking ache in his gut he’s ever felt, Eliot Waugh awakes into the world, the lights dotting his vision, blurry and shining. He sits up in haste, startling both Margo and Fen who -he was later told- had been sleeping in shitty hospital chairs, heads resting on each other in fragile support.

He had gripped the sheets to keep himself from keeling backwards and looked around, feeling the scratchy blanket with hands that were finally his own once more.

Everyone had crowded around his bed: Margo (who was crying, crying), Fen, Josh, Kady, Penny-23, Alice (who looked upset, so upset), and Julia (who looked somehow worse).

No Quentin.

Eliot had frowned.

“Where’s Q?”

He had said, like it wasn’t obvious, like the sinking feeling in his gut was just the intense abdominal pain from being stabbed by his best friend, like Quentin was going to come out from around the corner with snacks.

Julia had looked away, hadn’t met his eyes.

Alice just plain fucking left.

Margo had wiped her eyes and sat on the edge of his bed, taking his hand gently, gently.

“Quentin- “she began, “Baby, Quentin…He…” Margo had swallowed hard, swallowed all those terrible emotions that Eliot had just begun to feel.

“He died, Eliot.”

-

The floor had dropped from under him, and it hadn’t returned since.

-

So, yeah, it had been a month.

A very shitty month.

-

(Quentin remembers.

Dust and ash and sparks and water and pain and pain and pain and nothing. It blurs, the images Penny shows him. He cries and he looks, and he doesn’t want to stop looking, he wants to go back. And he has a MetroCard, but he’s said no true secrets and there’s a door with no backside and it pulls and pulls at him. He reaches and pushes and pushes through the bushes.

God, what is- it was overcast and the manuscript- he stumbles forward and sees a man- El- a man draped on top of the landing, smoking with ease and poise and he looks- familiar- handsome. He says his name and it’s, god, a theatre kid, Q can tell he’s one. And the handsome man jumps down and gives him such a look, up and down, and Quentin flushes, flushes.

And “I’m Eliot,” he says-

Eliot, Eliot, and Quentin is there and not there, Quentin-not-Quentin, separate and singular and he watches- a memory, god, just a memory.

Just a remembrance. Brakebills swirls and disappears and the world is dark and he is, just memory, emotion, a collection of everything and he sees: Alice, himself, foxes, Julia, the Beast, Fillory, the Beast, Alice, Eliot, Dad, Eliot, Alice, Julia, and Eliot and Eliot and- That day, the quest, and him and Eliot, on the stairs, letters and peaches and Eliot saying “ _Not when we have a choice._ ”

And Quentin can’t-

he turns and turns and walks and walks into memory, into himself and looks and prays?

Wishes for something, anything.

And he looks and looks and sees-)

-

Eliot takes a swig from his flask and rises with a wince, using his new cane for support. He’d been staying in the guest room of Kady’s loft-

the Cottage, when he had arrived, fresh from surgery, bandaged, had been too fresh of a reminder of the Happy Place, and he had promptly wretched and told Margo to “get him the fuck out”

-and it was, okay, sort of?

He hadn’t been keeping the room exactly tidy, and as he leaves it for the very clean-living room, he feels a pang of guilt and promptly pushes it back down- doesn’t matter.

Nothing really, truly, matters right now- anymore.

Margo sits at the island with Josh, a plate of eggs ready for him. He sees Julia and Penny-23 curled together, looking over- something, he doesn’t care. Fen was, is…somewhere. Alice and Kady, nowhere to be seen. Just like always. So, Eliot sits, takes the plate from Margo, eats, slowly, the lukewarm eggs.

And well-

now Julia is saying something but it’s going in one ear and out the other; and Eliot is remembering when Quentin had made him omelets, god, a lifetime ago, not even at the Mosaic, at Brakebills, the Cottage. Just before- before the Welters game when Eliot had been stressing over how to impress the mentors and Q had just, made him breakfast and asked, “How are you feeling?” And Eliot had felt wonderful, hadn’t he?

Not like now.

And he notices that Julia’s still talking: -lice says she has his book. And, and with the clay- if it’s cooperative, if we have enough people, it could really. I think it would work.”

“We don’t even know if he would want to- and doesn’t- we need the soul. The whole, being. If it’s just a- a fucking crumb. He could split or something, god, who fucking knows.” Margo says, and Eliot-

looks between her and Julia, confused.

“What- “he begins, “What do you mean soul- what? Bambi- “

Margo swallows, squeezes Josh’s hand and comes around the island, sitting next to Eliot, hand on his back, a calming presence.

“El. We’re- we’re going to get him back.”

Red hot blood rushes up, up, up to his face. Eliot’s skin tingles. His gut aches. His long fingers tremble.

“Quentin.” He says, quiet, almost hoarse, its-

been a long time since- almost a month, he hasn’t said his name, hasn’t spoken him into being, hasn’t dared.

“How? Get his- his soul? It’s in the Underworld. He’s- “

_gone._

He thinks.

He thinks of words he spoke, in secret, in his mind.

_If I ever get out of here, Q, know that, when I’m braver it’s ‘cause I learned it from you._

“He’s not. Alice stole his book and well. They- yes, he,” Julia stops, breathes, Penny-23 steadies her, like Margo steadies him, “We can get him. It’s like- like fucking Orpheus and Eurydice, you know? Fucking Hadestown. Someone has to go and, and get him from there, convince him to come back. Come home.”

_Braver._

Eliot thinks.

_Am I braver yet?_

Eliot squeezes his cane, stands.

“Uh,” Josh says. Penny-23 shifts, Margo frowns. Julia looks at him, searching.

What does she see, goddess as she is, was?

“I’ll go.” Eliot says, all conviction, bravery too, maybe.

 _If it’s be brave or be smart._ He remembers Margo saying.

But this isn’t Margo, thank god it isn’t, it’s Quentin, it’s Q, it’s- what had the Great Cock said?

_Brother of the heart (with the foppy hair) parts of one whole._

And they are, he is, Quentin is.

His.

“El, sweetie, you haven’t been- you don’t need to,” Margo’s nails scratch at his back, clutching.

“No, Bambi. I have to. I-“

_love him._

He doesn’t say, can’t say, or maybe?

Maybe, he can.

 _Braver,_ right?

He looks at Margo, Julia.

“I love him.” Julia nods. Margo clutches.

“And I can’t- I can’t fucking leave him alone and dead and god knows where and- _fuck!_ ” He squeezes: his cane, his fist, his eyes closed.

“Okay. Okay.” Julia nods again, resolute, decided.

“I’ll get Alice and Kady.” Penny-23 steps back from them all- vanishes.

“I’m going to- “Josh says, begins puttering around the kitchen, not finishing his sentence.

And Eliot just breathes, in, out, in, out, in, out.

“God,” he breathes, and feels Margo’s nails in his back, “God, just. God.” Margo gathers him close; they breathe.

“We’ll get him, baby,” she says and brings him around, facing her, eyes locked.

“We’ve got this. You’re gonna get him. You’re gonna get him and bring him home. Bring him home for us, okay?”

And Eliot-

breathes, swallows, nods.

Penny-23 returns and brings Alice, Kady, Fen, and a book.

 _The_ book, his book.

The cover, embroidered with Q’s name, is solid and whole and contained, everything about him is contained in it, is and isn’t. The loops and his death (one month, one fucking month it’s been), and their timeline, it’s all there and yet.

And yet.

It’s not like you can open it and see his smile, eyes crinkled, dimples and all.

So, it’s him-not-him and Eliot feels like Eliot-not-Eliot holding it in his hands, just a fucking, summary really, spark notes, like the kind of shit he used in undergrad to pass his GED’s. Not the full picture in the slightest. Julia has-

everyone, has been planning and planning and Eliot has just been. Going and going and going through the motions. Like the opening song in Once More with Feeling except he’s got so much, so much, too much feeling to sing about and he’s not fucking Buffy the Vampire Slayer back from the dead.

So, they shift into planning mode. The Hudson River Dragon, Julia explains, takes things of importance. What can be more important that him? Summary, all they have, all he is now? They all gather in the living room, all eight minus one and it feels- inequal, uncomfortable, unbalanced and wrong. But they plan. The spell-

Alice was going to summon Q’s-

his fucking soul, by herself.

But magic, necromancy magic goes wrong, on your own, without a friend, without cooperative magic.

Eliot shudders to think, to imagine, how Q would return.

Just a piece maybe? Like the summary of their summary. Half remembered scraps of notes, unfinished.

Together.

Together matters. They’re all-

they’re all fucking magicians minus Fen.

They can do it, will do it, together.

The plan: River Dragon, Underworld, _Q, Q, Q, Q._

Penny-23 talks about Penny, placid, smiling, suited up in a white room telling him to “Do it, do what he says,” and Eliot.

Seethes.

But there’ll be time, he tells himself, time. They prepare and prepare and soon the golem is made and shaped and everything is set and ready.

Alice goes to him with the book, tight in her hands, it’s precious, she gets it, understands?

She does, he thinks, probably.

“You said- well,” she laughs, short, frowns, long.

“It has to be you. Yeah. It has to be. So just- bring him back. Or, or.”

Her eyes are sharp. He knows.

“I’ll get him,” he says, and takes the book. Takes Penny-23’s hand, their personal Uber (ha), and the ground shifts, they shift, and they’re at the river. It smells: wet, cold, like salt? Like grime? He clutches the book, looks at Penny-23.

“I’ll wait for you here when you- when you get back.” Eliot swallows.

“Yeah, when I get back.” Q can’t-

Quentin doesn’t have a body, so Eliot has to, to guide him from the Underworld and let him loose.

It’s part of the plan: locate, catch, cradle, create.

Dirt to life.

Very Biblical (Greek too.)

“Don’t wait up for me,” Eliot winks, turns, enters.

-

The dark is, well, dark. Black and dripping and the sound of wet echoes underneath.

( _Thou womb of death._ He thinks, quotes. _)_

He sees the hulking form.

( _I enforce thy rotten jaws to open._ )

The Dragon is.

( _and cram thee with more food_.)

The Dragon is big.

Eyes glowing in the dark and smoke swirling around Eliot, enough to make him cough if he wasn’t focused.

“Take me to the Underworld,” he says to it, heart beating. The Dragon sniffs.

“What will you give me,” it says.

“A whole life.” Eliot holds out Quentin’s book, “Stolen from the Library. It’s valuable.” The Dragon cocks it’s head, “Set it down.” He does. Smoke billows over, around it.

“Do not stay long,” it says. “Living things cannot last in the Underworld. Even those half-living change.”

Eliot nods.

The Dragon spits smoke and sparks and fire.

He disappears.

And-

then-

he-

is-

there in a rush of smoke and dust and ash in a fucking waiting room of all places with the brightest and most uncomfortable fluorescents he’s even seen. And Julia, she told him, _“Run to the elevator and go as far down as you can.”_ So, he looks around wildly and sees someone- thank god- someone is just leaving it, so he runs and runs and the concierge yells something but he’s running and reaching and the doors almost slide closed around his coat, but he makes it. And slumps against the wall.

Breathing.

Breathing.

And god, he looks up and presses the lowest button he can find and then just, falls down again. And Eliot-

Eliot allows himself to remember, for five seconds maybe?

about Quentin.

About, about how he’d felt in his arms just after he found out he’d have to-

to stay in Fillory while everyone else went back out there-

and Quentin had hugged him tight and they hadn’t really talked by themselves since, since Alice found out about, you know, threesome, and there was an ease there and Q had been so soft spoken and gentle holding him.

And after, after Alice had, after she was gone, waiting for Q to wake up, he remembers his heart hurting, his best friend was hurting, and he couldn’t-

couldn’t do anything but leave and wait and wait and wait. And now Eliot doesn’t remember but thinks about Quentin, alone, somewhere in the dark, past reaching, past feeling, and past wanting, and all he can think is _“When I get him back, I’m never letting him go.”_ And the elevator doors open.

-

The Underworld, the Library, feels wrong. Off kilter, even more so than the Neitherlands somehow. Time doesn’t feel? Exist? Whatever. Eliot runs down halls and halls of bookcases. Alice had asked Zelda about Penny and he knows, knows where he is.

God, Penny, in confessional. He almost laughed when he found out. He skids down the final hall and sees it, a big fucking sign: _Secrets Taken to the Grave._

He walks towards the door and pulls it open.

_Braver._ He thinks and goes inside.

“I knew you’d come.” Penny says, like he expected him because of course, of fucking course he did.

“Give it to me.” Eliot says, the anger and hurt simmering in his chest, lungs, fingertips.

Penny stares, flat.

“Please,” he says, “Please, Penny, he- we need him back. I- “

Eliot stops, breathes.

A pause.

“The Gate, it’s down the hall. You can’t miss it. You have, you have one chance at this. I want one favor.” Penny says, reaching into his pocket.

“What?” Eliot spits almost.

“Tell him I’m sorry.”

And Penny hands him a MetroCard and Eliot is-

Eliot is nodding and running and running and gripping the card in his hand and running down the hall. He skids to a halt and the card is pinching his fingers and his hand is trembling, but his focus is on the Gate.

The Gate is simple and white, and he hates it, hates it. But he puts the card in his pocket and walks forward because as much as he hates it, he loves who passed through it much more. So, he reaches a hand out and-

and-

(Eliot passes through the Gate and it’s dark and it’s cold and he thinks is this how Quentin felt, oh god. And at the thought he sees- something. Quentin. Is it? He runs past, chasing paper, fucking _Fillory and Further._

And Eliot extends, reaches for him but he disappears and it’s dark so dark and Eliot’s so cold, so he just starts walking, following where Quentin (Not Quentin?) ran past.

And Eliot, he’s reminded of the Monster, and isn’t that great? Stuck inside a memory. Because he sees- he sees memories, they must be. Everything Q has been or wanted to become. He’s twelve playing with Julia underneath a table and sixteen in the hospital after downing some bleach and he’s twenty at Columbia and twenty-two at Brakebills and twenty-six and dying. It all swirls around him, dust and ashes and sparks. Eliot sees Everett that fucking- the fucking bastard, and he sees the Seam and the mirror it lived in and he sees Q, pause.

Turn.

Tut.

Disappear.

And Eliot runs past it all, searching desperately. He knows these things, these memories, he doesn’t need to look, he was told because Q trusted him and they matter and they don’t because memories he has, he wants- needs Quentin. No memory can supplement that. So, he runs and runs and finally slows down, exhausted, cold, still walking. And his foot, hits-

something.

And he looks down and it’s-

a tile.

And Eliot, exhausted, reaches for it and-)

It’s bright.

He keeps the tile in his hand and feels the card in pocket and pushes through the leaves and-

It’s bright.

The sun is shining, and the air is sweet and-

Eliot blinks.

It’s the Mosaic.

He remembers (never forgot) the garden and the clothing line and their little outdoor bed and the cottage that was way too small in the beginning and the tiles and the grass and-

Quentin comes out of the door. He’s carrying-

god, Eliot’s heart squeezes-

he’s carrying Teddy in his arms.

And Eliot.

Feels.

Frozen.

And Teddy wakes up in that sweet blinking way he got from Arielle and he smiles at Q and makes little grabby hands and Q is swinging him up, up, and laughing and smiling and Eliot can’t-

He steps forward and the tile drops from his hands with a clatter. Quentin turns, confused.

Then, _then_.

Recognition.

And Quentin is Quentin not thirty-five but twenty-six with shorter hair and a shitty all grey and black ensemble and tired, tired eyes.

“El- “he says.

Surprised.

Surprised-

why shouldn’t he be?

Eliot’s here, in the fucking, land of the dead, the Underworld of all places, and Quentin is surprised to see him, and Eliot is so fucking glad he could cry.

And Quentin-

turns towards the door.

_No, no- wait!_ Eliot thinks, says. He grabs Quentin’s wrist and Q _pulls_ , pulls away.

“Eliot, please- “

Quentin cries, voice rough.

“Q, just- please don’t- “Eliot says, gripping, pleading. And Quentin tenses.

Freezes.

Falls slack.

“Let me go. I can’t- I can’t go back. No one- no one wants me back and I- fixed what I broke alright, El? I fixed it, and I’m done and I-” he says.

“You have to let me go.”

And Eliot.

Lets.

Go.

Quentin runs and the door slams and Eliot.

Eliot stands in the bright sweet air and trembles and at long last hot tears fall.

He sniffs, wipes the wet from his face and leans against the door.

“You didn’t let me speak,” he laughs, wet.

The door says nothing.

He hears-

nothing.

Eliot swallows.

“Everyone came together and- and we found a way to bring you back. And, um- “

He wipes his eyes again.

“You know this place reminds me of when I was. When the Monster- you know. And it. It shoved all the parts of me into a little corner where I couldn’t get out and- I had to watch my most repressed memory to find a door to you, Q. And it was- I had to watch the biggest regret of my life play in front of me like- like I was watching the Wooster Group or some shit. And my biggest regret was- was turning down you.”

Behind the door.

A shift.

Eliot feels-

he feels anger, regret, grief.

And suddenly it bubbles forth.

“Q… You fucking asshole.”

He cries.

“How dare you. _How_ dare you decide your life wasn’t worth it. You think that dying at twenty-six is heroic? That _that_ was what it was all leading up to? Dying just to say you saved someone? Quentin, you saved _all of magic_. You’ve saved all our lives. So many times over. And we should’ve done the same - should’ve saved _you_. We _all_ should’ve reached out and shown you your worth, because you mean everything. You’re Quentin goddamn Coldwater: you’re compassionate, you’re kind, you’re gentle, you never push, you – you’re _you._ You’re important and needed in this world. I love you- you’re the most important thing, and I- I saw what happened, you know. There was plenty of time to throw the Monster into the Seam while that bastard was monologuing – but you didn’t. You just waited. Did you ever imagine getting out of there?” A shift again, Eliot continues. “Ha. No, what am I saying – No time to think, right?”

He swallows.

“You asked me to try something with you, something new and scary and unknown. We already knew, more than anyone else, the beauty of all life. Living. And I can’t – no one can decide for you – but now we have a chance to make it right. It won’t be easy – asking for help never is – but if you want to - to come back. I can make it happen. And I promise, I fucking swear, I’ll be there. We all will.”

Eliot steps away from the door, squeezing his hands into fists.

“It’s your choice,” he says, and turns, and leaves.

And it’s bright and the wet in his eyes burns and his heart burns and his lungs burns and-

A hand, grabs.

Eliot looks over his shoulder.

“You didn’t let me reply.”

_Quentin_ says.

And all Eliot can do is swallow.

“I- “Quentin grips his hand.

“Take me back.” His voice catches, “Take me back, El. I-”

And Quentin tugs and Eliot is falling forward and they-

hold each other close.

And Eliot tucks Q under his chin and _squeezes._

They hold and hold and hold each other, until at last they part, just a little.

Forehead to forehead they rest and Quentin smiles, tearful.

“Take me home.”

And Eliot-

nods.

-

So, they run.

They run and they run, and Eliot feels the MetroCard do it’s work in his pocket and he smiles and runs tugging Quentin along. And Quentin clutches Eliot’s hand and at they leave the Gate he feels the tugging of four friends and their magic, summoning him home. And Eliot keeps running and running and he doesn’t look back, he can’t. He runs and rises in the elevator up, up, up, into a swirl of smoke and sparks.

-

And Quentin opens his eyes and rises up, up, up, into the open arms of Julia.

-

And Eliot stumbles from the smoke and grabs Penny-23’s hand.

-

And Quentin smiles and cries. And the ground shifts and Eliot lands and sees him.

-

Quentin.

Alive.

And getting hugged within the inch of his life, thank god. Eliot spots Margo, clutching at Q, she looks up, and smiles, wide. She slips out from under Q’s arm and walks over to him. She hugs him, in that tight way of hers.

“You did it, baby,” she says. Eliot exhales, shuddering, smiling. Margo pushes him, just a little, towards Q.

He gives her a look but-

goes.

Touches Quentin’s shoulder and he feels- real.

He feels solid.

Substantial.

“Can I-?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Quentin nods, smiling. Eliot sits and rests next to him, feeling worn, tired. He sits. And rests, just a little.

“Q?” Eliot says.

“Yeah, El?”

“Penny says he’s sorry.”

“Oh.”

And Eliot turns to ask but then-

Alice.

She stands in from of them, eyes tired, just like Eliot, just like Quentin.

Quentin opens his mouth to speak but-

Then she’s hugging Quentin.

And pulling away.

And looking at them both.

And nodding.

And she leaves.

A pause.

“Okay, well that was weird- “

Quentin says but Eliot cuts him off, grabbing him and hugging him close, close, close.

“Wha- hey, hey. I’m- I’m okay, El. We’re- we’re okay.” Quentin says, smiling into his hold. Eliot pulls away and looks, really looks at him. And looks away, flushing.

“Hey we’re… going up.” Penny-23 interrupts.

Eliot snaps his head up to see him on the stairs.

Penny-23 gives him a pointed look.

-

Then, it’s just the two of them.

They sit together.

The silence is and isn’t?

comfortable.

It’s charged with… something.

Quentin clears his throat.

“Did you- Did you mean what you said about- about um, well, back at Whitespire?”

_When I’m braver._

Eliot thinks, knows.

_I’m braver._

“Yes. I did. I- Q, I want to try. I- “

Eliot laughs.

“Why the fuck not? Right?”

And Quentin.

Quentin smiles. Dimples and crinkles and a big wide grin.

“Hey- I- I love you. So, yeah. Uh, why the fuck not?”

Eliot grins.

“Can I-? Can I kiss you?” Quentin asks, smiling, eyes twinkling.

“I don’t know, may you?” Eliot smiles back.

“Oh, you asshole- “

Quentin laughs and leans in and Eliot cups a hand at his neck and _finally._

They kiss.

_God,_ Eliot thinks, _What a month._

**Author's Note:**

> Link to my animatic:<https://youtu.be/JAZFFy7uerQ>
> 
> Check out my twitter and tumblr (where I have been posting lots and lots of Queliot art)
> 
> [https://twitter.com/wow__then](https://fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/>https://fishfingersandscarves.tumblr.com/</a>%0A%0A<a%20href=)


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